


Turn up the music and pray that she makes it through

by La_Pacifidora



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Character Swap, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-26 22:52:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/La_Pacifidora/pseuds/La_Pacifidora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years ago, Robert Queen, owner and CEO of Queen Consolidated, took his ship, <i>The Queen's Gambit</i>, on a business trip to the far East. The ship went down among rough seas, and all souls aboard perished - nearly. The only survivor, found alone on an isolated island in the South China Sea, is a QC intern who went along before the start of her freshman year at Starling City University.<br/>Her name is Felicity Smoak.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turn up the music and pray that she makes it through

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not mine. If I did run the show, I'd make sure the family photos were photoshopped better. Title is from Josh Ritter's "[Girl in the War](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v5f5Xl_FGhg&feature=share&list=PLBnBkUXCAl5UuzUt14nE9kqNU91jJLCaH)."
> 
> This was written for my friend, Veritas724, who had a rough couple of weeks. I thought she would appreciate a fic to take her mind off real life, and I remembered she had made a comment about seeing Felicity in 'Island Gear,' which spawned this little story.

Oliver Queen was still awake when he heard the distant cry echo down the hall from the direction of his parents' bedroom. Point of fact, he'd come in from clubbing with Tommy about an hour before, but he'd been so amped that he'd been unable to fall asleep. He sat up from where he'd been reclining among the throw pillows on his bed and reached for the stereo remote on his bedside table, turning down the volume, and setting aside the issue of Maxim he was idly flipping through. He waited a moment, wondering if he'd have to narc on Thea for staying up late and watching scary movies. When he heard nothing, he made a mental note to check with the estate security about properly putting their dogs away at night.

Leaning back, Oliver crossed his legs at the ankle and reached for the copy of Maxim, lips pulling into a smirk as he wondered how difficult it would be to convince Tommy to try going 12 for 12 for the cover models. He flipped through a few pages of ads, and reached blindly for the stereo remote.

 

The second cry, when it came, was no less distant but louder and with a note of animal pain that raised the hairs on the back of Oliver's neck. He swung his legs off the side of the bed and pushed himself to his feet with a soft grunt, the remaining buzz causing him to sway a little as he stood. 

 

Another shout set him in motion, and Oliver crossed to his bedroom door, pulling it open hesitantly but not crossing the threshold. Down the hall, he saw his younger sister's door crack open and her head peek round the door frame, her curls pulled back in a messy ponytail and her sleep shirt hanging off one shoulder. Thea stared down the hall toward their parents' room and Oliver found himself staring at her, silently hoping she'd retreat back into her room.

 

A scream sounded from down the hall, startling both Queen children, and Oliver took a deep breath as he left the doorway of his room and headed toward the noise. As he passed Thea's room, he placed a hand on the top of his sister's head and gently shoved her back into her room without breaking stride.

 

"Go back inside, Speedy." He said quietly, breaking into a jog as he headed toward the landing that separated the wing with the children's rooms from that with his parents.

 

"But, Ollie-," Thea began, her voice pitched higher than usual with ill-concealed fear. "Ollie, that sounds like Mom."

 

"Go inside, lock your door, don't open it until I come back." Oliver ground out, continuing down the hall but pointing back at his sister. A distant click and quiet thunk let him know that for once his little sister had listened to him, and he crossed the landing, wishing he'd thought to grab his old baseball bat or at least put on his shoes before he'd left his room. He had no idea what he would find when he reached his parents' bedroom, and he'd never been much use in the fights he and Tommy would occasionally find themselves in at the night clubs and dive bars of Starling City. He slowed as he neared the door to his parents' suite, his pulse slowing slightly as he nodded at the maid and the bodyguard who stood in the hall outside. He knocked on the door as he pushed it open, surprised to see every light on and his mother, clad in her dressing gown, sitting inelegantly in the middle of the Persian rug that anchored the room. He paused just inside the room, one hand still resting on the doorknob as the other slowly clenched at his side.

 

"Mom?" Oliver spoke quietly, partly out of fear of startling the petite blonde, whose shoulders shook with silent sobs, and partly in hope she wouldn't notice his entrance. Some strange, insistent voice in head was telling him that if his mother didn't speak, then whatever she said, whatever had happened wouldn't be true.

 

But his fear and his hope were dashed when Moira raised her eyes to meet her son's stare. He bit back his initial reaction, knowing whatever tragedy had stripped his mother's vanity, whatever outranked her usual desire to be seen as composed and reserved, must be grave. He crossed the room and knelt beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Mom? What's wrong?" He felt his mother shudder as she struggled to draw breath to speak.

 

"He's gone." The words didn't ring in the silence of the room; rather, they left Moira's lips and seemed to fall to the floor in front of them like cinderblocks. Oliver imagined he might be able to see them if he tilted his head and squinted, chalky grey against the rich colors of the rug, then shook his head, recognizing his train of thought as ridiculous, if not outright hysterical.

 

"Who's gone, Mom?" He shifted so that he was sitting next to his mother, feeling very young despite physically dwarfing her. "Mom? Who is it? Who's gone?"

 

"Your father." Moira didn't so much lean into her son as fall against him, the shift in her weight as abrupt as the change in wind before a summer storm. She continued, although Oliver only caught every other word thanks to the rushing that filled his ears. "Your father- Robert- he's dead."

***

The house was silent except for the ticking of a clock on the desk in Robert Queen's study, and the gentle creak of floorboards as people moved about upstairs. Walter Steele thanked the maid who brought him a cup of coffee as he sat waiting, and took a long drink before setting the cup and saucer on a small table at his elbow with a faint clatter. He frowned and folded his hands in his lap to hide their shaking. He heard the door open and stood, turning to face Oliver, who walked in with a thin, tense smile on his face.

 

"Mr. Steele, thank you so much for coming out here."

 

"Oliver." Walter took the hand the younger man extended to him, and shook it firmly, placing his other hand over Oliver's briefly with a sympathetic nod. "Of course, I am happy to do whatever I can to help you at this time." He waited while Oliver rounded the desk, sitting in Robert's chair, before taking a seat himself. "I was surprised to get your call, but, please, consider me at your disposal."

 

"Thank you, Mr. Steele." Oliver absently straightened a pen that lay on the desk blotter before rubbing a hand over his face and leaning forward over the desk. Walter noticed the slump of the young man's shoulders and the dark bags under his eyes, and wondered if Oliver had slept at all since the news of the Queen's Gambit sinking. He was reminded of an old university friend who had insisted on sitting his final exams their final year, despite the death of both parents and the university's offer of sympathy leave. Death was difficult for one to encounter at any age, but Walter knew firsthand it could be exacerbated by the lack of perspective only the very young - or the very sheltered - possessed.

 

"Oliver, I think you're old enough to dispense with the formalities. Please, call me Walter." He leaned forward in his chair with a wry little smile.

 

"OK...Walter." Oliver paused, grimacing a little at the unfamiliar name. He looked up at Walter, who was staring back a little strangely. Oliver coughed to clear his throat. "Um. Maybe I'll stick with 'Mr. Steele' for now and work up to calling you Walter?"

 

"Yes, that might be for the best." Walter fought the grin that threatened to break free for a moment, but couldn't keep it at bay for long. "That was - stranger than I anticipated." He shook his head and chuckled quietly, then froze, realizing his reaction might not be appropriate. He glanced up at Oliver, who was still staring at him, but as he watched a smile crept across the younger man's face and Oliver barked out a laugh.

 

"Good." Oliver let out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort and ran a hand through his shaggy blond hair. "I thought maybe it only sounded weird to me, but it didn't." He took a deep breath and shook his head, a small but genuine smile on his face. "Man, that was weird."

 

"Quite." Walter shook his head and took a deep breath before turning back to the business at hand. "Now, what can I help you with?"

 

"Right." Oliver chuckled again, and Walter was pleased to notice the younger man looked a little less rigid than he had when he entered the study. "Well. There's a board of directors meeting scheduled for next week. I guess there are department heads flying in from overseas and everything." Oliver stood, pushing back from the desk and coming around to sit in the second chair, next to Walter.  
"My mom's-," He paused, swallowing hard, "she's not exactly up to going into the office and being around all those people for that long." He sighed and slumped back into the chair, picking at a thread on the hem of his t-shirt. He glanced over at Walter, then returned his attention to the thread. "Our family lawyer said there should be a member of the family present at the meeting; something about a show of strength and resolve or whatever." He tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling. "I think what he meant was that we need to show that just because people think my dad is dead doesn't mean Queen Consolidated is going to fall apart."

 

"I believe you're correct." Walter crossed one arm across his chest and tapped his lips with a finger on the opposite hand. "Though not exactly how I would have put it." He watched as Oliver shrugged, then sat up and turned toward him in the chair.

 

"Right. And Mom is out of commission, and, obviously, Thea is too young, so it's me." He laughed again, but without the humor of earlier. "I'm the- what's the phrase? 'Man of the house'?" He turned his attention back to the thread on his t-shirt, glancing up at Walter every few words like a nervous student. "I guess I was hoping- well, I mean, I know it's your job and everything but I hoped-"

 

"I'd be happy to bring over some summary reports that will help you get a grasp for what will be discussed at the meeting." Walter offered, nodding when Oliver looked up in surprise. "And, if it doesn't interfere with your other obligations, I can carve some time out of my schedule to go over them with you. There will still likely be questions you won't be able to answer, but we can certainly do something to help you feel more comfortable talking in front of the board."

 

"Thanks, Mr. Steele." Oliver managed a grateful smile and cleared his throat. "And, uh, you'll be there, too, right?"

 

"Oh." Walter blinked rapidly. "Well, normally, as a department coordinator, rather than a head manager, I wouldn't be invited to a board meeting." He paused, gathering his thoughts and swallowed. "But if you'd like me there, I will be there."

 

"Thank you." Oliver nodded and tilted his head to one side, cracking his neck. "I don't suppose you have any ideas for handling my mom and sister?"

 

"Well." Walter straightened and reached for his coffee cup, grimacing a little now that the liquid had gone cold and wishing rather hard for a good cup of English tea.

 

"Sorry, sorry." Oliver stood and rubbed his palms on his jeans. "I bet anything that's not in your job description, and, well," He shrugged as he continued, "you are English."

 

"See here." Walter stood, facing the younger man, and letting his pride help him past his natural reticence about anything vaguely emotional. "I didn't mean it that way." He smoothed a hand over his tie and buttoned his suit coat. "I simply don't have much experience in situations such as this." He stepped forward, resting a hand on the taller man's shoulder. "And at the moment, we can't know for certain that your father is dead." He put a little more weight into the hand that rested on Oliver's shoulder. "Until we know otherwise, I would encourage you to help your mother and Thea focus on the possibility that he might have survived. I also think hugging might be helpful." He let his hand drop and sighed. "After all, that's what I plan on telling the family of the QC intern who was accompanying your father on his business trip." Walter shook his head slightly. "Although I likely won't be offering them a hug." He turned toward the door when Oliver reached out a hand to stop him.

 

"What intern?" Oliver watched as Walter turned back to face him and frowned at the confused look on the older man's face.

 

"Why, the Queen Consolidated intern we selected to go with Robert on this trip." Walter frowned slightly. "Robert said it was your idea." He saw Oliver's frown deepen in confusion. "He said he asked you to accompany him, but you said you didn't think you'd be able to take the time off from school. Then he said you suggested taking an intern, instead." Walter stepped forward, watching the look of dawning horror on Oliver's face.  
"Robert came to me because I'm on the intern selection committee, and asked for a recommendation. I gave him the name of one of our most promising applicants. A bright young woman, already two-thirds of the way through her bachelors degree, thanks to skipping a grade and taking post-secondary classes at Starling City University while still in high school. I contacted her on behalf of your father, and she accepted quite readily. I suppose she thought it would be one last adventure before she started classes as a proper SCU student in the autumn." Walter stopped talking, unsure how to proceed. "I thought Robert would have mentioned it."

 

"No." Oliver swallowed thickly, a renewed feeling of guilt gripping his heart tightly. "No, Dad didn't mention that."

 

"I'm sure it simply slipped his mind." Walter tried for a comforting expression. "It wasn't as though Robert had anything to hide. I know he'd never met the young woman before they left on the trip."

 

"No, of course not." Oliver sat heavily in the chair behind him, then raised his gaze to meet Walter's. "When you bring over those reports, can you bring the intern's file, too? Please?"

 

"Oliver, that's not really neces-"

 

"Please, Walter." Oliver placed his hands over his knees, curling his fingers in the fabric of his jeans. "I'd like to see it. And we should send flowers or a plant or something to her family."

 

"Very well." Walter turned to go to the door again, but only made a few steps before turning to look back at Oliver. "Please don't feel responsible for the young woman, Oliver. She was under no obligation to accept the offer: That was her choice."

 

"I know." Oliver turned his head to look out the window behind his father's desk. "Wha- what is her name?"

 

"Felicity. Felicity Smoak."

***

Oliver stood at the head of the conference table, looking down it's length at the sea of faces of QC's board of directors. Their expressions ranged from skeptical to sympathetic to curious, and Oliver felt a moment of blinding panic before he met Walter's eyes. Walter nodded encouragingly, and Oliver nodded back stiffly as he turned his attention back to the board. 

 

After welcoming them and reading a prepared statement, Oliver opened the floor to questions, doing his best to answer those questions he could and deferring to the various managers he'd requested be in attendance to field those concerns he couldn't address. Nearly 20 minutes later, Oliver began to wish he'd attended more of his business classes - and to wish he'd taken Tommy's suggestion of having his water pitcher filled with vodka.

 

An older director, who Oliver vaguely recognized from the Gotham QC offices, waited impatiently for a logistics manager to finish answering a question put to her by a director from the Indian offices. As the manager stepped back from the head of the conference table, the director from Gotham stood and leaned forward, hands planted shoulder-width apart on the table's gleaming surface. His jowls quivered with some unnamed emotion, and Oliver fought back the urge to cringe away from the confrontation his gut told him was coming.

 

"It's all well and good for the wheels of Queen Consolidate to continue turning now, when things are still uncertain and contingency plans are good enough for day to day operations. But what happens when Robert Queen is officially declared dead? Will Mrs. Queen be taking over her husband's role? And if not the Widow Queen, then who? _You_ , young man? You're not exactly a figure we're all likely to rally behind." The Gotham director sneered, his cheeks flushing as his ire rose. "After all, I assume the same is true of doing business with pigs as it is if you lie down with them." He glared at Oliver, ignoring the man next to him who was tugging at his sleeve in an attempt to quiet him. "Although I suppose we could ask some of the secretaries here if we want an answer to _that_."

 

"That is quite enough, Mr. Crane." Walter stepped away from his position at the side of the room and strode toward Oliver, who had gone pale beneath his perpetual tan. "May I remind you that the Queens are still the managing majority owners of the company, much less that Mr. Queen is grieving his father's terrible accident and is deserving of some sympathy, whatever you may think of his personal behavior."

 

"No one asked you, Steele."

 

"No, no one asked Walter to come to my defense." Oliver said, raising his head and opening his eyes slowly, pinning Crane with a cold stare. "But as the company's new CFO, and acting CEO until my father is either found or declared dead, Mr. Steele has the professional courtesy to defend any QC employee against unwarranted attacks." The conference room was silent in the wake of Oliver's impromptu speech, and Crane sat back heavily in his seat, which rolled away from the table a good foot thanks to his weight and momentum.

 

"Mr. Queen." A woman about the age of Moira Queen, who Oliver recognized as a director from Metropolis, spoke calmly despite the slightly shocked look on her face. "While I commend your choice, I'm afraid you can't simply appoint Mr. Steele as the CFO and acting CEO without calling for a vote among the board of directors." At Oliver's raised eyebrow and pointed look, she stood and smoothed her suit jacket. "I second Oliver Queen's nomination. All those in favor of Walter Steele's appointment as CFO and acting CEO, pending confirmation of Robert Queen's status and whereabouts, say 'aye.'" She raised her own hand amid a chorus of 'ayes' from all but Crane and the man who'd tried to quiet his outburst. "All those against?" She waited as Crane and his colleague alone raised their hands. "The ayes have it." She smiled and turned to Oliver, who returned her smile smugly and nodded. Oliver turned to look at Walter, who looked as gobsmacked as the reserved Englishman ever did.

 

"Mr. Steele, congratulations on your promotion." Oliver extended a hand for Walter to shake, smirking as the older man looked from Oliver's hand to his face and back again before taking and shaking it in his own. Oliver turned back to face the assembled directors. "That should assuage any concerns regarding Queen Consolidated being in capable hands until my father is either found or declared - dead." He swallowed as he forced the word out through a tight throat.  
"As for my own involvement in the company, I've been on the phone with both my current college and Starling City University yesterday and this morning. I've started the process for transferring my credits to SCU. I should be finished in a year to 18 months. When I'm not in classes, or spending time with my family, I intend to be working here, at QC's flagship facility." Oliver let the smirk soften into a genuine smile. "I've spoken to the head mail clerk, and I look forward to the many papercuts I'm sure to receive in the next several months." He slipped one hand in his trouser pocket and gestured to the bank of windows lining one wall of the conference room as he walked toward it, hoping the movement distracted from the shaking of his hands.  
"Starling City is my hometown, and Queen Consolidated is my family's livelihood - and it's legacy. If Mr. Crane was correct about anything, it's that I've spent far too long ignoring my obligations. I intend to be worthy of the responsibility that comes with being a Queen, and I figure the mailroom is as good a place as any to start." He turned to face the board, silently pleased to see they had all turned to follow his progress: The words might be different, but this wasn't much different from snagging the mic from a DJ and convincing a club full of Starling City's bright young things to agree to a wet t-shirt contest. He gave the board his most ingratiating smile. "Now, while I'm sure more of you have questions and concerns, I think I've been away from my mother and younger sister for long enough. If you'd like to see Mr. Steele's executive assistant, I'm sure times can be arranged for you to meet with either Mr. Steele or myself to address those concerns. Thank you for coming, and please, help yourselves to the refreshments in the next room." Oliver walked toward Walter, letting his calm mask slip a little. The older man's eyes widened marginally as he nodded, and Walter turned to the board. 

 

"Thank you all for coming. Meeting adjourned." Walter turned on his heel and followed Oliver out of the conference room, down a hall to the elevator to the executive offices. They did not speak in the quiet of the elevator or on the way to Robert Queen's office, where Oliver had left his cell phone and laptop earlier in the morning. Walter stopped, leaning against one of the chairs in front of the imposing desk while Oliver crossed to the windows overlooking the city and leaned his forehead against the cool pane of glass.

 

"That was - well, I'm not entirely sure how to appropriately describe what just happened."

 

"I'm sorry for springing that on you, Mr. Steele." Oliver's tone was apologetic, but his voice was quiet and hoarse with exhaustion.

 

"Not at all." Walter shook his head in minor disbelief, then shifted to sit down in the chair against which he had been leaning. "Although perhaps I should have set some kind of parameters on what I was prepared to do to help you."

 

"For what it's worth, I discussed this with my mom." Oliver turned and leaned against the window, staring just over Walter's shoulder as he crossed his arms over his chest. "She agreed that it would be a good solution until we know... _anything_." Oliver shrugged. "And my dad always spoke really highly of you. If he'd been here, he probably would've offered you the promotion himself." Oliver ran a hand through his hair, dislodging the careful arrangement Thea had spent far too much time and hair product creating. He licked his lips and opened his mouth to speak when a knock at the office's glass door drew both his and Walter's attention.

 

Malcolm Merlyn, CEO of Merlyn Global and father of Oliver's best friend, entered quietly, striding across the office in a dark suit and a slightly sympathetic expression.

 

"Oliver! I'm sorry I missed the meeting." Malcolm stopped in front of the younger man, shaking hands with him and clapping Oliver on the shoulder. "When Tommy mentioned that you'd be representing your family's interest, I'd wanted to be there for moral support." He dropped Oliver's hand and turned so he stood between the two other men. "But, as I'm sure you'll learn, business concerns rarely take our personal plans into account." Malcolm stepped toward Walter, hand outstretched. "I hear congratulations are in order, Walter."

 

"Thank you, Malcolm, yes." Walter shook the other man's hand. "I take it you resolved everything?"

 

"What? Oh, yes." Malcolm shrugged and laughed easily. "Simply a matter of applying pressure to the right points to straighten out a minor mess." He looked toward Walter, his face twisted in an apologetic expression. "Walter, I hate to kick you out of what will be your own office, but I was wondering if I could have a word privately with Oliver?" Malcolm remained focused on Walter as the other man shot a glance at Oliver. Oliver shrugged and nodded.

 

"Of course. I ought to confer with my assistant and set some sort of schedule for meeting with the board one-on-one." Walter smiled politely as he turned toward the door. "Oliver, I'll be just down the hall if you need me."

 

"Thanks, Walter." Oliver half smiled as the older man raised an eyebrow at him in amusement before nodding and exiting the office. He turned his attention to Malcolm, who had spun to face him. "What can I do for you, Mr. Merlyn?"

 

"Oh, Oliver." Malcolm shook his head and put a friendly arm around Oliver's shoulders. "I think we've known each other long enough for you to call me 'Malcolm.'" He chuckled as Oliver shot him a skeptical glance.

 

"Sorry, Mr. Merlyn." Oliver shrugged, deftly putting some space between himself and Tommy's father. "That might be beyond what I can manage: I mean, you're Tommy's dad or Mr. Merlyn. It'd be like calling our first grade teacher 'Liv' rather than 'Mrs. Akin.' It'd be a little too strange."

 

"Ah, well." Malcolm shrugged and crossed to the chairs in front of the desk, taking a seat. "I can understand that. And you're dealing with such a sea change at the moment, it's wise to keep those familiar things close." He paused, settling back in the chair and waiting for Oliver to take a seat at the desk. When the younger man was settled, Malcolm stroked a hand across his chin.  
"Speaking of familiar things, I came by for more than simple moral support." He leaned forward, his tone becoming conspiratorial. "As you know, I've been friends with your father for years, and we've always considered each other a sounding board when it comes to the business of, well, business. And I want you to do the same." He smiled slowly. "That is, if you have any questions or concerns - or you're not sure exactly how your father would have handled a situation - I want you to think of me as a resource. Anything you want to talk about, anything at all, I'm here for you." Malcolm sat back, one hand laying across the arm of his chair while the other gestured around the office in which they sat.

 

"Thank you for the offer, Mr. Merlyn." Oliver replied after a long moment. "I'll keep it in mind."

 

"And, of course, if there's something I think you should be doing as the new face of Queen Consolidated, I'll be sure to let you know."

 

"Right." Oliver grit his teeth, recognizing Malcolm's patronizing delivery from years of Tommy's second-hand accounts. "Well, thanks for that." He glanced over at the clock sitting on his father's desk and stood. "Actually, I've been away from home too long, I think. If you'll excuse me?"

 

"Oh, of course." Malcolm stood, waiting as Oliver gathered his belongings, slipped them into a leather messenger bag and crossed the office toward the hall. He took Oliver by the elbow, matching pace with the younger man. "I find your dedication to your family admirable." They paused as they stepped into the hall and Malcolm caught sight of Walter waiting a few yards away for Oliver. "Please, give your mother my best. And don't forget what I said."

 

"Of course. Thank you." Oliver smiled and nodded, watching as Malcolm hovered at his side for a moment before nodding in return and walking to the elevator. As Malcolm stepped aboard and the doors slid shut, Oliver walked the last few feet to stand next to Walter.

 

"Is everything quite alright?"

 

"Yeah. Just Tommy's dad playing his usual games." Oliver shrugged and slung the strap of the messenger bag over his shoulder. "He wants me to come running to him if I have any questions about how to run _my father's_ business."

 

"I see." Walter bent and picked up his own briefcase, then the two men headed for the elevator. "And will you?"

 

"Will I trust the man who basically abandoned my best friend after his mom died, and has never been able to remember his own kid's birthday on a year-to-year basis?" Oliver snorted and folded his arms over his chest as he and Walter boarded the elevator and the other man pressed the button for the parking garage. "Yeah. Sure. Great idea."

***

"I can't believe I'm saying this, Oliver, but you might not want to write my dad off." Tommy Merlyn threw himself onto the couch in the family room of the Queen mansion, shifting until he could pull his cell phone from his pocket. He turned slightly, dropping the phone onto the end table, then turned back to face his friend, who slumped onto the other end of the couch.

 

"Tommy, _you_ don't trust him."

 

"I don't _like_ him." Tommy shrugged. "But he's my dad. I mean, I trust him to not, like, throw me in front of a speeding train. But he has a point: He knows your dad pretty well. And until your dad comes home, you might need someone who knows what your dad would do." Tommy tipped his head back against the couch arm and stared at the ceiling, missing Oliver's grateful look at the word 'until,' rather than 'if.' "Anyways, it's not like you're taking over the company right now. That's why you put that Walter guy in charge, right?"

 

"Yeah." Oliver sighed and ran a hand through his hair before he rubbed his forehead between his brows. "I don't know how my dad does this all the time."

 

"Tell me about it." Tommy sat up a little, his normal carefree expression slipping. "I mean, can you imagine how much he's probably freaking out right now? He's God knows where, and for all he knows, there's no one holding down the fort."

 

"He knows I'd step up if I had to," Oliver replied, leveling a glare at his best friend. 

 

"Right." Tommy scoffed, shaking his head. "That's why you're actually not here, but wherever your dad is: Because you're so dedicated to the company and are super responsible."

 

"Shut up." Oliver leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together tightly. Movement from the corner of his eye drew his attention, and he turned his head to watch Tommy shift on the couch till his friend mirrored his pose.

 

"Dude, it's fine. Your dad knows you're still in school: He's probably glad right now you didn't come with him."

 

"Yeah. Instead, _my dad_ is stuck someplace with some 18-year-old intern he barely knows." Oliver gave Tommy a disbelieving look. "Because that's totally better than having your own kid with you." He frowned. "And if my dad _is_ dead-"

 

"Oliver, you can't think like th-"

 

"I can't ignore it, Tommy." Oliver stood abruptly and began pacing in front of the couch. "It's been more than a week, and we haven't heard anything from him." He paused, turning to face Tommy, and shoved his fists into his jeans pockets. "My dad might be dead." He licked his lips, and drew a deep breath. "Robert Queen might be-" His voice caught in his throat, and he cleared it quietly. "Robert Queen might be dead. And if he is dead, if my dad, who was an expert sailor, is dead, we have to assume no one else survived the storm, including an 18-year-old girl who took my place because I didn't want to leave town."

 

"Oliver." Tommy shook his head and stood as well, stepping toward his friend. "Ollie, man, you can't blame yourself for anybody else's decisions. And I'm sure you had a good reason to not want to go." He shrugged. "It's not like business trips are ripe with opportunities to hit clubs, anyways."

 

"It's not that." Oliver sighed and raised a hand to rub the back of his neck. "That's not why I didn't want to go."

 

"Dude, don't leave me in suspense." Tommy leaned back and crossed his arms. "You're making it sound like it's some _big thing_ that you didn't want to go or-" He stopped and eyed Oliver suspiciously. "Was it that you _couldn't_ leave Starling City? Ollie, is there a warrant out for your arrest or something?"

 

"No." Oliver shook his head and look to the ceiling before dropping his gaze to the toes of his shoes. "I didn't want to leave because of a girl."

 

"Aw, man." Tommy chuckled and leaned forward to cuff Oliver on the back of the head. "Don't tell me you're getting all girly and weepy about Laurel." He laughed again and turned away, sitting back on the couch and picking up his phone, sliding it open to show the keyboard.

 

"Not Laurel." Oliver spoke so quietly he wasn't sure at first if Tommy had heard him. He watched as Tommy's fingers slowed to a stop on the phone's keyboard, then met his friend's eyes as the other man looked up at him.

 

"Oliver."

 

"Yeah."

 

"Oliver, you can't keep dicking around on Laurel."

 

"I know." Oliver turned and sat down on the couch that sat opposite from Tommy. "I know she's not going to put up with it anymore."

 

"Forget putting up with it." Tommy set his phone down beside him on the couch and leaned forward. "Oliver, Laurel's an amazing girl, and she deserves better from you because she's crazy about you."

 

"I know."

 

"Then tell me who could possibly be hot enough to make you pull some shit like this?"

 

"Sarah." Oliver watched as Tommy's eyes widened and an angry flush turned his face the same color as one of Thea's Wet 'n' Wild lipsticks.

 

"Sarah."

 

"Yes."

 

"As in Sarah Lance? As in Laurel's sister Sarah Lance?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"Oliver." Tommy didn't shout: He simply stood up and crossed the space between the two couches to loom over his friend as he spoke in a calm, even tone. "Please tell me I just had a tiny stroke, and you didn't admit that you've been hooking up with your _girlfriend's younger sister?_ "

 

"We haven't hooked up." Oliver replied sullenly as Tommy stared at him in confusion.

 

"Well, I suppose that's a comfort." A new voice spoke into the silence following Oliver's reply, and both men turned to see Laurel Lance standing in the doorway of the family room. Oliver stood, trying not to gape and smoothed a hand over his shirt.

 

"Laurel."

 

"Don't." She stepped further into the room, dropping her book bag on the floor by an end table, and settled her hands on her hips as she stared at her boyfriend.

 

"I can explain."

 

"Uh huh." Laurel began tapping a toe, her face screwed up in mingled bemusement and disgust. "Tell me something, Ollie: You haven't hooked up with my little sister or you haven't hooked up with Sarah _yet?_ "

 

"It's not like that." Oliver sighed and took a step toward his girlfriend, shrugging off the restraining hand Tommy placed on his shoulder. "You've been so busy with studying for the LSAT-"

 

"Don't you even dare try to put this on me."

 

"I'm not!" Oliver exclaimed in frustration. "But you've been busy, and Sarah's been around. We started hanging out while I'd be waiting for you to get out of class, and I realized she's actually really cool."

 

"Bull. Shit." Laurel rolled her eyes and took a deep breath, schooling her face into a calmer expression. "What you realized is that you have the attention span of a flea, and my baby sister has an impressive rack."

 

"No." Oliver shook his head and shrugged. "I mean, OK, yes, your sister is pretty-"

 

"Dude, stop talking." Tommy urged quietly from behind him.

 

"-but she has nothing on you." Oliver ventured another step closer to Laurel, watching her carefully for any sign that she might be about to break out some of the self-defense moves her father had taught her. "Nothing's happened."

 

"If I hadn't found out-" Laurel stopped, swallowing thickly and pressing her lips together tightly for a long moment. "If I hadn't come over today and overheard you - hell, if I hadn't found out, _period_ \- would something have happened?" She stared at her boyfriend, whose mouth opened and closed soundlessly. He finally licked his lips and shrugged again.

 

"I don't know."

 

"OK." She nodded and retreated to a nearby arm chair, sitting down heavily. "OK." She clenched her hands into fists, the skin stretching white over her knuckles. Glancing up at Oliver, Laurel laughed humorlessly. "I guess it's a good thing you didn't go with your dad."

 

"Because I'm safe here?"

 

"Because Sarah's idiot enough that she would have followed you if you'd gone." Laurel shook her head, blinking rapidly against tears that had collected at the corners of her eyes. "And she doesn't even get sea sick anymore, so that wouldn't have stopped her."

 

"Laurel, I'm sorry."

 

"Oh, Oliver." Laurel closed her eyes and dropped her head into her hand, her elbow resting on the chair's arm. "I know you are. But I don't know if you're sorry for what you did, for getting caught or for getting caught like this." She sighed gustily.

 

"Wow." Tommy said from his position by the door, having edged that direction while his friends talked. "Would you look at the time: It's awkward o'clock." He smirked when Oliver glared at him, and shrugged. "I'm going to go see if Raisa has a pot on because awkward always makes me thirsty." His smirk turned into a tense smile when Laurel turned her head enough to stare at him through narrowed eyes. "Yeah, I'm just going to- uh, gonna- Right." He nodded and spun on his heel, his footsteps fading as he headed toward the kitchen.

 

Oliver and Laurel were left where they stood and sat, respectively, both silent. Finally, Laurel drew a shaky breath that sounded overly loud in the conscious quiet of the house. She lifted her head and fixed her gaze on Oliver, who looked uncomfortable but did not, to his credit, flinch.

 

"What do we do now, Ollie? Did you think about that? Where do we go from here?" She fell silent again, and Oliver, despite his usual emotional immaturity, realized hers weren't rhetorical questions. He sat on the edge of the couch closest to Laurel's chair and scrubbed both hands over his face, meeting her teary stare with his own red-rimmed eyes.

 

"I don't know." He sighed bodily, shaking his head. "I really don't know."

***

As much as being a billionaire playboy philanthropist and entrepreneur meant never having to buy your own coffee, Oliver had never been able to give up the habit of walking down to the local coffee shop to get his caffeine fix. 

 

Of course, Oliver Queen, CEO of Queen Consolidated, didn't walk anywhere - even the chain coffee shop across the street and two blocks down from the office - alone, where as Oliver, son of Robert and Moira Queen, or Oliver, rich college kid, had never been accompanied by a bodyguard.

 

(He'd even, on occasion, put up such a stink about having a security detail, that he'd been left alone for six months as a teen. He'd reveled in the freedom at the time, but he could see now how lucky he'd been not to be the target of kidnappers or someone else looking to manipulate his family.  
Well, at least someone looking to manipulate his family's bank accounts, rather than any one of the multitude looking to exploit the Queen business interests. The latter were a day to day threat, even now.)

 

He shuffled his feet as he stood in line next to his current bodyguard, one John Diggle. Diggle had been assigned to his personal detail about a year before, when Walter had stepped aside to let Oliver take over as CEO while taking over CFO duties full-time. As the new head of QC, Moira had insisted Oliver accept a bodyguard chosen by the head of security for the family and the Queen estate. She hadn't broken down into hysterics, which was an improvement on when Thea had refused a bodyguard for her school's field trip to the capital, but the loss of her husband five years earlier had made Moira intent on the safety of her remaining family. Her children had acquiesced as gracefully as possible, aware that their mother's insistence was a small price to pay when she might have taken them all away from Starling City years ago, instead. 

 

However, Oliver and Thea were willing to compromise on their mother's security concerns if it meant watching the fireworks when Moira and Walter argued about his security. Moira maintained that as her husband, Walter not only deserved his own detail, but that it was a necessity. Walter, on the other hand, seemed to consider finding ways to ditch his bodyguard a means of entertainment during the daily grind of a workday at QC.

 

Yet, Oliver considered himself lucky to have Diggle watching his back: The man rarely spoke about his tours of duty, but Oliver would lay even odds Diggle had been part of some sort of top-secret operations. His instincts and reflexes were peerless, and he'd been invaluable in teaching Oliver how to handle himself in a fight. Moreover, while they might not be friends, they certainly got along far better than Oliver had with any of his previous bodyguards. Watching the other man out of the corner of his eye, Oliver decided Diggle was looking a little too serious for a Friday morning.

 

"What'll it be, Digg? My treat."

 

"Nothing for me, thank you, sir." Diggle responded without looking at Oliver, as his attention was consumed with watching the shop's exits.

 

"Ah. Don't want coffee breath because you have a hot date with Carly tonight, huh?"

 

"Yes, sir." Diggle's reply was absent, and Oliver stifled a laugh at the moment other man realized what had been said. "I mean- I didn't mean- No." Diggle coughed to clear his throat. "No date with Carly tonight."

 

"She's not stepping out on you with another guy, is she Digg?" Oliver continued to tease his bodyguard as the line shuffled forward.

 

"No, Carly is not seeing anyone at present."

 

"Ah. That's probably because you keep choking on the follow through when you try to ask her out." Oliver gave his bodyguard a shit-eating grin when the other man turned a mild glare on him.

 

"Carly is my sister-in-law, Mr. Queen. It would hardly be appropriate for me to see her in a romantic context."

 

"Sure it would, Digg." Oliver shrugged. "Which is why she basically feeds you for all meals on your downtime, and why you always have one eye on her when we're at Big Belly Burger for lunch."

 

"I'm concerned for her safety."

 

"Right." Oliver chuckled. "But are you sure you don't want a coffee?" He watched Diggle shrug half-heartedly.

 

"Nothing too fancy, sir."

 

"John, you wound me: Don't you trust my taste?"

 

"Hardly. You've ordered for me too many times for that to be possible." Diggle smirked as Oliver shook his head and pulled his phone from his pocket as the two men moved forward incrementally. Oliver slid his thumb across the screen to answer the call and put the phone to his ear.

 

"Hey, Tommy. What's up?" Oliver nodded absently to the indie pop playing in the coffee shop as he listened to his friend. "Sounds good. Mom's throwing a dinner party tonight, so I'm leaving early to pick up Thea and try to corral her into actually showing up tonight." He chuckled at his friend's response. "I don't know, man. Were we ever that much trouble?" He hmm-ed in reply to something Tommy said, then cleared his throat. "How about I meet you at Laurel's apartment after dinner, and we'll go over the plans then? OK. OK, I gotta go, Tommy, I'm in line to get coffee. Tell Laurel I'll bring back that book she loaned me when I come over tonight. Bye." He hung up as he and Diggle stepped up to the counter and placed their coffee orders. Oliver paid for their drinks, and they shifted down to the pick-up end of the counter.

 

Oliver watched the activity of the baristas, drumming his fingers on the countertop and humming tunelessly. He thanked the barista for their drinks and picked up both cups, turning to Diggle, who was holding a bag with Oliver's mid-morning scone.

 

"Hey, Digg, want to switch?" Oliver held out a cup to his bodyguard, who didn't respond. "Hey. Digg." He grunted in exasperation. "Earth to John Diggle, come in Diggle."

 

"Oliver." Diggle's tone was carefully devoid of any intonation, which immediately put Oliver on alert. Oliver took a step closer to his bodyguard, standing shoulder to shoulder and scanning the shop for the threat Diggle had noticed.

 

"What is it, Digg? I don't see anything."

 

"That." Oliver followed Diggle's arm as the other man pointed at a TV mounted to the wall at the end with several couches and small tables. Oliver blinked at the TV, glancing from it to Diggle and back again.

 

"Digg, we have TVs at the office. But I'll be happy to get you a new one if you're that fascinate-"

 

"Sir, I suggest you _shut up and listen._ " Diggle's reply was terse, and Oliver frowned at him for a moment before walking toward the TV, which he could see was tuned to the 24-hour news network out of Metropolis as he neared it. Oliver turned to see that Diggle had followed him and was about to give the other man a piece of his mind when three words from the TV caught his attention: Survivor. Queen's. Gambit.

 

Oliver's jaw dropped slightly, and he barely noticed as Diggle guided him out of the store, calling for a company car to meet them in front of the QC offices. He didn't remember later Walter meeting them at the entrance, or the three of them climbing into the back of the town car that turned toward the Queen estate. And he certainly didn't remember Diggle removing his coffee cup from his hand and replacing it with his scone.

 

But he did remember, later, much later, after he'd foisted his mother off onto Walter for comfort, and after he'd glared at Thea when she'd appeared in the study and promptly poured herself two fingers of Scotch (though he hadn't stopped her because if anything warranted that reaction it was what was now possible that had been impossible a day earlier), the one thought that had gone round in his head on a loop.

 

It was worth it: All the time, all the money, all the manpower - it was worth it.

***

Helen and Merle Smoak were sitting huddled together in the hospital waiting room when Oliver burst out of the elevator, Diggle and Walter at his heels. He scanned the room and nodded when Helen's eyes met his, a stilted grin crossing his face at the beaming smile she sent his way. 

 

A petite woman with curly brown hair, graying now at the temples, Helen Smoak broke away from her husband and crossed the waiting room, throwing her arms around Oliver, who leaned down and squeezed her shoulders in response.

 

"Oh, Mr. Queen! Mr. Queen, they found her." Helen's words were muffled as she spoke into the front of Oliver's pea coat, but he understood enough to nod as she pulled back.

 

"Now, Mrs. Smoak, what I have said? Mr. Queen is for my business associates: Call me Oliver."

 

"Only if you'll call me Helen." She fixed the younger man with a wry smile before turning as she caught sight of Walter, who stood behind his step-son, a wide smile on his face. "Oh, Mr. Steele! Oh, it's so good of you to come."

 

"Of course, Mrs. Smoak. You couldn't keep me away." Walter stepped forward, accepting Helen's hug with marginally less grace than Oliver had, but with more than he might have five years prior. He led Helen toward a chair, while Diggle took up a position by the door as Oliver crossed to Merle.

 

"Mr. Smoak." He extended his hand to the bespectacled man, whose face had more lines than it had the first time they'd met five years ago.

 

"Mr. Queen." Merle took the younger man's hand and shook it heartily, the worry dropping away as his face split in a beaming smile. "I don't know how we can begin to thank you."

 

"Don't think of it." Oliver said, reaching out and clapping the older man on the shoulder. "It's the very least I could do." He released Merle's hand and followed the older man to the far side of the room, accepting a cup of coffee as they stood watching Walter and Helen chat animatedly.

 

"It's more than anyone else would have done, Mr. Queen." Merle stared down into his coffee before meeting Oliver's stare intently. "We could have sent out all the photos of our daughter we wanted, but we certainly couldn't have afforded to make anyone pay attention." He swallowed, his mouth drawing down into a small frown as he visibly fought back tears. "That was all you, Mr. Queen, whatever you might say." He nodded once, brusquely. "Thank you."

 

"You're welcome." Oliver nodded back and took a sip of the coffee, giving it a surprised look when it wasn't as disgusting as he'd anticipated. He turned his attention back to Merle. "Have you or your wife seen her yet?"

 

"No, not just yet." Merle shook off his sadness, though it still hovered at the edge of his expression, in the shadows under his eyes and a tightness around his mouth. "The medical staff want to make sure she's prepared to see us. And they've said she's not going to look quite like the Felicity we remember." He shrugged. "As long as she's here and breathing and real, I couldn't care less what she looks like."

 

The two men turned and walked to a cluster of seats across from where Walter and Helen sat chatting. There was an anxiousness in the room that even Diggle felt, despite only knowing the story second hand. Walter patted Helen's hand where it lay on the armrest between them, and they shared a smile before turning to face Oliver and Merle. They looked at each other, abruptly at a loss for small talk.

 

"Mr. and Mrs. Smoak?" A young Chinese woman stepped into the room, still shrugging on her lab coat and tucking a pen into the breast pocket of her scrubs. "I'm Dr. Yep." She crossed to the group, who stood as one. She shook hands with Helen and Merle and gestured to the chairs. "Please, have a seat." She dragged a nearby stool over so she sat between the two pairs. "I've been treating your daughter, Felicity, since she was brought here from the Coastal City military air field. Now, you'll be able to see her in a few minutes, but I wanted to go over her condition with you both so you'll be prepared for what you're going to see. Gentlemen, if we could have the room?" She spoke to Oliver and Walter, her words pitched as a question, but her tone firm enough for a command.

 

"Oh, doctor, it's alright." Helen spoke, exchanging a look with her husband across from her before turning her attention to the physician. "This is Walter Steele and Oliver Queen. They're old family friends."

 

"And Felicity is a Queen Consolidated employee," Oliver added, pitching his smile somewhere between 'charming' and 'brooking no arguments.' "Of course, we're here out of a personal interest, but I'll admit we're eager to know when she'll be able to come back to the office." He waited as Dr. Yep eyed both Walter and him skeptically, then nodded slowly.

 

"Of course." She shot a suspicious look over her shoulder at where Diggle still stood guard, but turned back to the group in front of her with a shrug. "Well, to start at the beginning, Felicity was found, as you know, on an island in the South China Sea. Luckily, the island she was on had ample animal and plant life as well as fresh water, so she doesn't appear to be malnourished or dehydrated.  
"Nonetheless, we have her on an IV and will keep her on one while we hold her here for observation. She does appear to be slightly underweight, but I suspect that is because she has very little body fat after her absence, coupled with some temporary atrophy of muscles she built up over the course of living on that island. We're starting her on a very basic diet of simple foods to reacclimate her digestive system to more common foods. Otherwise, she might become nauseated or lose her appetite entirely." Dr. Yep smiled reassuringly. "This is all perfectly normal for someone who's been involved in a shipwreck or a similar event. The body needs time to readjust to regular meal times and food that is processed, even as little as that which we're giving Felicity." 

 

"So, she's going to be OK?" Walter asked, noting that neither Helen nor Merle looked quite up to carrying on a conversation.

 

"Physically, I expect Felicity to make a full recovery and be ready for release in a few days." Dr. Yep sighed. "But you should know that her weight and appetite aren't the only matters of concern." She reached into the pocket of her lab coat, drawing out a small tablet that she turned to face the group. "These are a few of the x-rays we took when Felicity first arrived: You'll notice these shadows here and here. That is what a broken bone looks like when it's healed." She paused as Helen inhaled sharply and shook her head. "Felicity appears to be very lucky that she only have a few minor breaks while she was on the island, none of which were compound fractures. However, her time there wasn't entirely without some kind of violence: Twenty percent of her limbs and torso contain scar tissue. Most are not exactly noticeable, but she clearly did not always have an easy time of it."

 

"Well, at least Queen Consolidated has an excellent health care plan," Oliver said, cringing slightly when his tone came across more glib than wry.

 

"I'm glad to hear that," Dr. Yep replied, graciously ignoring Oliver's slip. "I suspect Felicity will need counseling, given the trauma of the initial event and given the length of her isolation on the island." She fell silent, letting her patient's parents and friends absorb the full weight of her statement, then stood, pushing aside the stool. "Now, Felicity's parents can visit with her for as long as they like." She looked from Walter to Oliver. "You're welcome to stay, although I can't say she'll be up to so many visitors all in one evening." Her smile was professional and friendly, but her overall expression reminded Oliver vaguely of the estate security dogs when confronted with strangers but not given any orders.

 

Merle stood and crossed to Helen, helping his wife up and taking her arm as she leaned heavily on him. He glanced back at Oliver, who smiled and stood, crossing the narrow aisle and settled into the vacated seat next to Walter.

 

"You go on. We'll be here if you need anything." Oliver gently shooed the Smoaks toward the hall door, as he turned his attention to his phone, pulling it out of his suit pocket. He flinched when Walter gently cuffed him up the backside of his head.

 

"What Oliver meant to say was, should you need any assistance or a sandwich from the cafeteria, we are at your disposal." Walter smiled at the Smoaks even as he shook his head at his stepson. He watched as they headed into the hall, nodding encouragingly when Helen looked back, worriedly. The waiting room fell silent again as the door closed on the three men. Diggle crossed the room to sit across from them, and exchanged a glance with Walter, both men watching Oliver as he tapped out a message on his phone. Without looking up, Oliver shrugged and cleared his throat.

 

"I'm fine."

 

"Of course, sir." "Quite." Diggle and Walter exchanged a second, more concerned look, but neither was sure what to say. Finally, Diggle sighed and stood. 

 

"I'm going to go check at the nurses' station about the cafeteria hours." He turned and left the room, purposefully shutting the door behind him.

 

"I really am fine." Oliver repeated, his voice quiet but calm.

 

"I know." Walter watched his stepson's profile for a long moment before laying a hand on Oliver's shoulder for a moment. "I cannot say I'm sorry Felicity survived." He drew a shaky breath. "But I am sorry she is the only one who did." He withdrew his hand from Oliver's shoulder, removing a tablet from his briefcase and turning it on to check his email. Silence reigned in the waiting room for several minutes, during which Walter pretended not to hear Oliver's choked breathing.

 

"Hey, Walter?"

 

"Yes, Oliver?"

 

"Thanks." Oliver glanced at his stepfather from the corner of his eye, a twitch at the corner of his mouth as much of a smile as he could manage at the moment.

 

"You're welcome, Oliver." Walter met the younger man's stare for a moment before turning back to his tablet and falling quiet again.

***

The doctor - Yep, she had called herself - hadn't wanted to let Felicity out of bed for any length of time. Felicity had even found herself scolded when she'd tried to make it to the ensuite bathroom by herself, rather than buzzing and waiting for a nurse or orderly to help her.

 

She shook her head, her lips pressed together thinly into what might be called a smirk, if the rest of her face had betrayed any emotion: Yes, she should be coddled after spending five years fighting tooth-and-nail for her daily survival. That made complete and utter sense. She snorted, surprising herself with the laugh, as she had a mental image of Mr. Spock arguing against the logic of Dr. Yep's orders.

 

Felicity rolled her shoulders, relieved she'd finally managed to convince a nurse, who'd come in while her parents were visiting, to bring her a pair of hospital slippers and a mobile stand for her IV bag. With those, and the addition of an old bathrobe her parents had brought from her childhood room, she'd been granted permission to not only leave her room but to walk all the way to the end of the hall - all 400 feet of it - so she could look out on the world she'd left behind years ago. 

 

As she stood at the full wall of windows, a distant flash of lightning and a subsequent faint rumble of thunder, sent a shiver down her spine. Felicity closed her eyes against the sight of Starling City, spread out in front of her like a Lite Brite, filled in with no pattern, and the threat of the coming storm. The buzz of the industrial fluorescent lights receded from her consciousness, along with the distant hum of computers at the nurses' station and the muffled voices coming from the other private rooms up and down the corridor.

 

Felicity swayed, gripping the upright of her IV stand tightly, abruptly in a hallway aboard the Queen's Gambit again. _The pounding of crewmen's feet running overhead drowning out the near deafening crashes of thunder overhead and the thwack of waves as they struck the hull and sent the ship rocking under her feet. She put out a hand, bracing herself against the wall as she pressed the fingertips of her other hand against her lips and breathed deeply and slowly through her nose, fighting back nausea. She consciously forced her eyes wider, annoyed with how frequently she was blinking when she realized it wasn't a nervous tick but was instead the lights flickering on and off. The ship rolled to the opposite side, and Felicity widened her stand, waiting for the floor to level enough for her to proceed to Mr. Queen's on-board office._

_She was nearly there when the door to his office burst open, a dark stain spreading out across the dark industrial carpet, followed shortly by Robert Queen himself. Robert glanced down one length of the corridor before looking the other direction, his gaze falling on Felicity, who unconsciously gripped the strap of her messenger bag, tight across her chest over the life-jacket and sent him a queasy smile. His gaze dropped from her pale, sweaty face to the life jacket, and he raised an eyebrow as he lifted his eyes to hers again._

_"Better safe than sorry, right, Mr. Queen?"_

_"Right, Ms. Smoak." He nodded once, turning back to his office and grabbing something that he tucked into one of the cargo pockets on his pants before leaving the threshold. He walked down the hall toward Felicity and took her arm, hustling her along the hall and toward a staircase to the upper deck. "You're not jumpy around lightning, are you Ms. Smoak?" He watched her face as her answer was lost to the roar of sea and sky as they stepped out on deck. She repeated herself, but realized she couldn't even hear her own voice, and settled for vigorously shaking her head. He spared her a grin that didn't reach his eyes and led her toward one of the many life rafts the crew was preparing for launch._

_Minutes later, as she held tightly to the raft's ropes, pressing her knees into the floor as Mr. Queen and the ship's captain had instructed her, all noise seemed to disappear in the blink of an eye. She ducked her head to push the bridge of her glasses up her nose with the back of her wrist, and when she raised her head again, the Queen's Gambit was at a frightening angle as it disappeared beneath the thrashing waves. She ventured a look over her shoulder at Mr. Queen, about to offer her condolences, but the look on his face stopped her words in her throat._

_Robert met his intern's sympathetic gaze for a moment, and the corner of his mouth twitched, as close to a smile as he could manage at the moment. As she shifted to face the center of the raft, she saw him move from the corner of her eye._

_Silent, Felicity watched the CEO of Queen Consolidated, raise a pistol and aim it at the back of the captain's head. She opened her mouth, whether to shout a warning or a question, she didn't know_ \- and had never been able to decide.

 

"Ms. Smoak?" A vaguely familiar voice spoke behind her, and Felicity turned, careful of the drip line attached to the inside of her arm. A tall, well-dressed middle-aged man stood behind her, with an equally tall and fashionable but younger man standing just behind him. "I doubt you remember me. My name is-"

 

"Walter Steele." Felicity interrupted, coughing a little as her voice came out hoarse. She ducked her head and took a deep breath before looking up to meet his eyes. "Of course I remember you!" She forced a little laugh out through her tight throat. "After all, I spent months working on my QC internship application, and when I got the call to set up an interview, I made sure to do my homework on who was on the intern selection committee. I know all about your history with QC, and your educational background, which, by the way, it's really impressive that you were able to test out earlier than your classmates and begin university a full year before the rest of your cohorts. I mean, that's almost genius level smarts and an intense dedication, and I'm a certified genius who took a ton of post-secondary classes, so I think I know a little something about skipping grades and all of that. And then I looked up your secondary school, which led me to read all about your hometown, and I know that sounds kind of stalkery but I swear, I'm not a stalker; it's simply that I like to know what I'm reading about, and that means if I don't know where someplace is or what something means, I'll research the hell out of it, which is what I did with your hometown." She paused, finally taking another breath and biting her lip to fight the smirk at the surprised look on both men's faces. "I found some photos of it on Google, too. It's really beautiful; your hometown, I mean, Mr. Steele."

 

"Yes. Well." Walter's hands moved jerkily at his sides, as though he'd prefer to have a cup of tea, or some other prop, to occupy them while he spoke. "Thank you. I've always been rather fond of Grantham." He looked at the younger man, who looked faintly amused, and cleared his throat. "In any case, Ms. Smoak, I'm here on behalf of Queen Consolidated. We are overjoyed that you are home." He took a few steps forward, lowering his voice. "And we are heart sore that you have suffered as a consequence of your association with the company. I, in particular, have been sick, knowing that I was the one who recommended you to Robert in the first place." He lifted a hand, as though to place it on her shoulder, but halted the movement, turning it into a gesture.  
"Please, do not worry about your medical or travel expenses: QC is covering everything, and we will provide for any future care you may require." He paused, weighing his next words. "I realize you are likely quite exhausted, between the flights back to the States and the gamut of medical tests the hospital staff have put you through." He paused again, clearly uncertain as to whether to proceed. Felicity smiled softly, tilting her head to one side in an encouraging manner. "We need not get too much into it today, but Queen Consolidated would like to offer you a full-time IT position, with full-benefits and a competitive salary. It would, of course, be contingent on when you and your doctor feel you are fit to begin, and on the completion of your education, which we would, of course, help you finance." Walter brought both hands together at his waist and clasped them together. "It is the very least that you are owed."

 

"Thank you." Felicity aimed for a tone between overwhelmed and weepy, and fought back a triumphant smile when he flinched slightly. _So very English_ , she thought to herself. "But, as you said, it's been a long couple of days for me. Maybe we could talk more about it tomorrow? Or the day after?"

 

"Of course." Walter nodded, his smile relieved but kind. "Take all the time you need. Your parents have my contact information, and I'll be available whenever you'd like to further discuss your options. Good night, Ms. Smoak. We are so very glad to have you home."

 

"Thank you, Mr. Steele." She smiled in return, slouching a little and lifting her free hand to her mouth to cover a yawn. She watched as he nodded again and turned to go, then paused when the younger man didn't move to follow.

 

"Oliver?" Walter looked back over his shoulder. Felicity's gaze raised sharply; _it couldn't be._

 

"I'll be with you in a moment, Walter." The younger man - Oliver - sent the older man a placating smile. "Why don't you find Digg? I think he's down at the nurses' station, flirting some information out of them."

 

"Ah. Certainly." Walter continued down the hall, leaving Felicity with Robert Queen's son.

 

"Ms. Smoak."

 

"Mr. Queen." Her hand involuntarily clenched around the upright of her IV stand, but she fought the urge to flinch, to flee, to shout. She waited silently as Oliver looked her over, not sure why he was examining her so closely. His inspection set her nerves on edge, and she faked another yawn. "As scintillating as this conversation is, I _am_ pretty tired, as I told Mr. Steele."

 

"Of course." Oliver ducked his head, repentant expression in place. "I'm sorry." The words hung between them, the air thick with addendums to the statement: I'm sorry you lived through this, I'm sorry you went in my place, I'm sorry for whatever you had to do. Felicity wondered, if he knew the whole story, whether he'd amend his apology to the simpler 'I'm sorry you lived.' 

 

"Was there something else?" Felicity shivered, the cold floor tiles sending a chill through the flimsy hospital slippers. She dropped her hand to the lapels of her bath robe, pulling them tighter around her neck.

 

"No, I, uh, wanted to second everything Walter said." Oliver said, grimacing as he realized how lame his words sounded. "And I wanted to add that whatever other help you may need, regardless of what you decide, well, I'd like to offer myself." He shrugged, slipping his hands into the pockets of his trench coat. "If you need help finding an apartment, moving; if you decide you don't want to come back to QC, and need to find another job; whatever, I'm happy to help."

 

"Thank you." Felicity swallowed, her lips curving unconsciously into a genuine smile. "I appreciate that."

 

"You're welcome." Oliver rocked on his heels. "Uh, I'll let you get some rest. Good night."

 

"Good night." Felicity waited as he turned and began to walk after Walter, following him as she decided to head back to her room. She watched Oliver's back ahead of her and paused as she reached her door. "Mr. Queen." Oliver stopped at her voice and turned back to face her, an expectant look on his face. She bit her lip, unsure whether to proceed, but shook off her indecision. "He didn't suffer. It wasn't quick, but he didn't suffer." She watched as Oliver paled beneath his permanent tan, then nodded.

 

"Right." He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly even from several feet away. "Welcome home, Felicity." He nodded and turned to continue down the hall.

 

Felicity watched him for a minute, then stepped through the door to her room, and crossed to the closet. She opened the door carefully, maneuvering her IV stand out of the way, and reached a hand up to run it across the front of the long wooden chest set on the top shelf. She sighed heavily, letting her head drop forward, then backed up and closed the door. She walked over to the bed, climbing onto it stiffly. She sat back against the pillows, and reached for the TV remote, fiddling with it for a moment before she managed to turn it on. She flipped through the channels until she came across the evening news rerunning footage from an earlier press conference outside the Queen Consolidated headquarters.

 

On the screen, Moira Queen was answering questions about Felicity's return, visibly shaken and pale. Felicity clearly had caught the very end of the press conference, as Moira excused herself and stepped away from the podium and off the stage, while a tall man in a suit stepped up to the microphone to thank the press for coming and to direct them to QC media relations officers for further comments. He flashed a smile at the camera, and a crawler at the bottom of the screen ran the words 'Malcolm Merlyn, CEO, Merlyn Global.'

 

Felicity felt the hair on the back of her arms stand on end, and she fumbled blindly on the bedside table for a small, non-descript notebook, that she opened, flipping to the last page. Her eyes dropped to the last page with writing, a name written shakily in pencil. She blinked and returned her gaze to the TV, where the man had stepped away from the podium, and was making his way through the throng of reporters, deflecting questions and repeating the words "No comment." She frowned and closed the notebook, holding it in her lap and pressing her palms against its water-damaged cover.

 

"Malcolm Merlyn, you have failed this city."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [no man is an island (oh this i know)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3090425) by [confidentialityspice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/confidentialityspice/pseuds/confidentialityspice)




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